Hearts and Crafts  A Valentine's Day Story
by Kaeru Shisho
Summary: When Trowa Barton meets a stranger at a Valentine's Day craft event, will he be able to convince him to give him a chance?  AU, male/male pairings, wooly things abound


**Hearts and Crafts**

**A Valentine's Day Story**

Summary: When Trowa Barton meets a stranger at a Valentine's Day craft event, will he be able to convince him to give him a chance?

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.

A/N: Thank you WaterLily and Snowdragon for the edits and comments

**Warnings:** AU, male/male pairings, wooly things abound

* * *

Quatre wrestled the last of his boxes into his tiny stall and checked his phone for the time. "Five minutes! Eek!"

He wouldn't be ready before the doors opened to the craft fair and festival unless he could run backwards fast enough to go back in time. Customers would be streaming past the ticket-drawings and brochure tables, pushing into the narrow aisles, money burning holes in their pockets, and he wouldn't be geared up to sell.

"I must do something about my table setup," he groused. He'd struggled to get his booth structure out of his minivan then chucked most of it because it was an indoor venue. "At least this isn't outside in the rain."

"Everything's so heavy." He shook out his aching arms before setting to, emptying a plastic carton and stacking helter-skelter the baskets of product onto his table. "I hope I sell it all so I don't have to haul it back home."

In the neighboring booth to his right, the woman parted her drapery to smile at him. He'd been talking aloud. To himself! "You have plenty of time," she purred to him. "Take a deep breath. Relax."

Her voice had a soothing quality, but then she had a comfy lounge table and not much else to set up. Maybe he'd ask for a massage before the fair closed. But that wouldn't be until after tomorrow. He was a wreck already!

"Thank you for the good advice," he said politely.

More stacking, more emptying until the last box tipped over, pouring out its remaining contents of candy-apple red gift bags. "Thank you too," he groused, picking up the slippery bags and filling a decorative basket. "Finally!" All of his things were unloaded.

He had only to return the rolling cart and empty containers to his van so as to clean up the area and make space to turn around. And then he had to hang the bags and find his cash box and-

"Hey! Whatch out!" came a voice from his neighbor to the north.

"Oh, sorry!" He'd bumped an upright setting off all the other vendor's wind chimes and rainbow catchers strung between the corner posts.

"No harm, dude. Just don't take me down here, heh, heh."

One multi-colored arc of the spectrum flashed over a heavy-lidded face. _No chance of that,_ Quatre thought. All that incense and burning candle wax wasn't completely covering for the other, illegal aromatics he could detect.

The conference hall was huge, but his allotted space in it was small, expensive and limited, bounded on one side by a new age candle maker and on the other by a hippie massage therapist.

He backed carefully, steadied his tottering tower of mismatched boxes, and wheeled his dolly through the vendor craft room, weaving around other folks doing the same thing down the hallway past the bathrooms and out the service door. From that point he had a quarter mile hike to the vendor parking lot to his small van crammed into a too-tight parking space. At least there was a parking space!

There, he unloaded the boxes and crammed everything into the back, the last box perched precariously on top, slamming the door, and locking it. "I need a bigger car. Or to do a better job packing."

Rain pelted his head, a rivulet finding its way past his linen collar and down his back, soaking into his soft green cashmere sweater. The drops rolled off his grey wool slacks, for which he was grateful. Mostly unaware of it, he still wore clothes that hinted of his once wealthier past. "Stupid forecast didn't say anything about rain!"

He dashed back inside and raced into the men's room, where he grabbed a handful of paper towels and dried his face and patted his hair. One glance in the mirror was enough to assure him he looked presentable, a little flushed, but clean, before he sprinted out to his booth.

There was a young man peering over his stuff. "He'd better not be thinking of stealing anything!" he muttered to himself. On second glance, the observer looked about his age and had a kind face and a hot body in the trim jeans a snug, green _(My favorite color!_ _I love that shade!_) sweater, too nice to be a thief.

"Hello! I'm Quatre Raberba Winner." He pitched his voice loudly enough to give the slender man fair warning. No reason to give him a shock.

Slender-and-tall straightened and turned his way. One hand brushed at the long fall of caramel-colored bangs, revealing one green eye (_sigh_) and a badge indicating he was an employee of the fairgrounds, where the Asian Festival* and Valentine Arts and Crafts Fair was being held. "Trowa."

Quatre reached out and shook hands. "Nice to meet you, Trowa. This is my booth." _Strong grip and calluses, interesting._

"I figured as much. If you need change or something, I'm your guy."

_Yes, you are_, Quatre thought. He'd make certain to need many, many things if it meant getting to see Trowa again. "I'm sure to need something."

That remark earned him a fractional smile. Trowa had apparently decided that he'd contributed to the conversation about as much as he intended to. He frisked the other man with his eyes. Quatre: Pale, blond eyebrows arching over his innocent—scratch that- startled blue eyes as he reared back slightly.

Quatre didn't think he had enough blood in his system to blush any harder than he already was.

Trowa had picked up a small, coral-pink, felt heart, hand stitched in red thread, and stuffed with spun wool. "What's this for?"

Quatre added bristles to his blush. How dare he insult his handmade things! He'd spent hours every afternoon for weeks painstakingly cutting and sewing with careful, perfect little stitches each and every one of those hearts. And they were darling!

"For?" Quatre snatched the product from the unappreciative man's fingers and replaced it in the basket of similar little pillows all nestled together. There were reds, oranges, golds, browns, pinks, and creams, dozens of the hearts with their dainty stitched and zig-zagged "pinked" edges.

He took up a defendable position behind the table in his booth, leaving the other man on the outside aisle. "I string them on ribbons with pompoms and hang them… like this. Or as pins. And they are nice _just_ in a bowl. They're crafted items! They don't need a use or purpose—"

Trowa held up a hand. "I know, I know! Don't bite off my head. I was just… joking."

"Oh. Sorry."

Another sly whip of a smile was his reward, and then Trowa shrugged. "No damage done."

"I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have jumped on you like that (_maybe jumped you_). It's just that I've been trying so hard to prove I can do what I like on my own and pay my own way." _Stop blathering to a complete stranger, Quatre!_

Trowa appeared to cast about for another person, maybe one holding a gun to Quatre's back "Make money or die". "Prove to who?"

"My father, in particular. Oh, he's not _here._ Just in my head. I refused to go into the family business and… well… here I am. Struggling. I play contras three evenings a week—those are for people practicing folk dances— and sometimes I have a gig at night, which leaves me days for my crafts." He'd run out of air so he stopped to breathe.

"Oh. Well, good luck." Trowa used the break in his speech to tip a non-existent cap, and strolled away.

Quatre's blue eyes followed his long-legged progress down the aisle until he was out of sight. Then he slapped his forehead. "What an idiot I am! Chattering away about myself like that and chasing him away. Loser! Loser musician and crafter, all in one stroke of unmitigated anti-genius!"

Off in the distance he could hear the first of the entertainers lining up near the stage —Hawaiian dancers, mostly children. If he closed his eyes he could smell teriyaki chicken and curry sauces wafting past his booth from the food carts. Now those folks had been up for hours preparing food before opening. It all had to be cooked and brought in.

His mouth watered. "It's too early to start fantasizing about food!"

he reminded himself. Quatre's best friend, Duo, manned the sushi cart and would bring him a bento box, hopefully. If he had a break. If Duo remembered and had a break.

He strung the last of his gift bags between the posts of his booth, imitating the style of the swaying wind chimes next door. He hung a few mobiles and continued to fuss with his product arrangement for another minute.

After that he was too busy to dream about food or chastise himself. Customers willingly traded cash for his handmade goods. They wanted to hear him talk about his wares and comment, too.

"You made these?"

"Yes, I did."

"What tiny stitches. Beautiful. I love your color choices."

"Thank you!"

"I can't choose."

"I have that one with a pin back, if you'd like," he offered.

And his products sold.

"Excuse me, but I'd like both of these lovely bouquets. Using layers of buttons to make the blossoms is just brilliant!"

Quatre glowed. "Thank you so much! They take hours to make, so I'm very happy you appreciate that. My name's Quatre," he said, holding out a hand to shake.

"Nic."

"Nic, I have a pin made the same way, just the one. I wasn't sure of the design. What do you think?"

"It's beautiful."

"So are you. It's yours, then, for investing in my button buds."

"Eeee! A button boutonniere—oh, a button-ear!" They both laughed, and while the young lady attached her pin to her sweater, Quatre hurriedly swathed the clusters of dainty, button flowers in tissue paper before stowing them safely in a pair of red bags.

"Thank you again," he said. "I hope you enjoy them as much at home."

"Oh, I will!" she laughed again and turned away.

More customers moved into his small space to "oooh" and "aah" over his appealing items. There were pincushions shaped like mushrooms and hedgehogs, including the glittering glass-headed pins; felt flower pins each one embellished with tiny beads, glistening like water droplets; felt-covered treasure boxes with thick note cards embossed with maple leaves tucked inside; mobiles of bright, multi-hued felt birds floated overhead. Fuzzy owls, just palm-sized, and a few other soft, wool-felted animals found new homes that day. His handmade items charmed his customers and sold.

And every customer left with a shiny, red paper gift bag. A reminder to everyone else that today was Valentine's Day, a good day to buy a thoughtful present for a loved one. He liked how he'd decorated his booth with the bags, hanging from ribbons strung from corner to corner overhead. He hoped the advertising would draw in the customers and justify their heady cost. He had to do better than break even!

(.~:*:~.)

Trowa was kicking himself for what he said, "-good way to annoy the cute blond guy. Insult his crap… er… stuff," when his closest friend dropped by the Information booth. "What do you want, Chang?"

The slight, Chinese man pointed at the sign. "Information." His sneer widened into a near-smile with a flash of white teeth. "I know that look. What asinine thing did you do this time? Dear God, Barton! It's not even noon yet!"

Trowa's eyes swept around the huge conference center only to pause traitorously in the vicinity of Quatre's booth. Yes, he could see the golden boy from where he stood. After watching him unload his crates of … merchandise, he'd only had to move the Information table twenty feet and bribed one vendor for a trade of spots. Now he'd gone and wasted money if he couldn't start over.

Tracking one gaze with his own, his friend located the object of Trowa's interest. "Nice. Rather sweet and gooey for you, but nice. And he's selling Valentine gifts! I have got to pick up something for Mill before I go on."

He moved closer and lowered his voice. "You have to stop using your words. Show him what a nice guy you are and how you'll treat him. Use your… imagination- no, that's not right- use your talents."

"Hey!" Trowa yelled, too late. He couldn't get past his own customer and had been too slow on the uptake to stop his friend from investigating Quatre's "Wooly Friends" booth. There'd been a row of tiny owls, colorful felt hearts clamped in their gold beaks and button-eyes glaring down at him from their moss-covered perch. Snuggly. Warm. Ugh. Everything about the cute blond drew him in, even as he intellectually rejected everything Valentine.

"Ones and fives." The strident voice yanked him back into the present. "And fast. I got customers ringing the joint!"

Trowa took the handful of twenties and counted out the change, noting that at the other end of the loud mouth was a mid thigh long braid with a rather nice ass in between.

A pair of violet-blue eyes met his, crinkling into a smile. "Love these holidays. Great for business, eh?" the braided young man asked with the joviality of someone doing a brisk business. "And Valentine's the best!"

"I guess. I don't celebrate Valentine's Day."

The large blue pools flashed and narrowed into perilous rapids. "Your loss. Thanks for the cash."

The braid whipped out, arcing as he turned away, and lashed the table where his hands had been moments earlier.

Arms safely folded over his chest, Trowa grumbled, "Yeah, you're welcome."

Hordes of people of all ages swarmed the aisles and blocked his view of Quatre. Inactivity ate away at his patience. Standing and waiting was a bore, so Trowa flipped up the "Be Right Back" sign and ambled to a refreshment stand and looked over the bubble tea selections. It occurred to him that if he were thirsty, Quatre might be, too. So he ordered two, "Cherry and Melon." He had to like one of them.

His friend Wufei Chang was nowhere to be seen at the booth, "coast is clear", so Trowa moved into the wooly nest. No, he corrected himself, more of a red hot candy with all the glossy, red, hanging, shopping carriers.

"Here." Trowa made a point of lifting one and then the other drink, inviting him to choose. "Cherry or melon."

"For me?" Oh, how the aquamarine eyes shone!

"Pick _one_."

"They both look so good-" and Trowa worried that he might never make a choice and he'd be relegated to fixture status, standing, holding, offering; however, Quatre snatched the green melon drink and latched onto the straw for a long draw. "Oh, that's delicious. I was parched. Thank you so much!"

Not the choice Trowa would have guessed, but he liked the cherry just as much, so he didn't mind being left with that one. Even Valentine's Day didn't seem so bad when he could share it with this ray of sunshiny guy. "It's okay. Just thinking—"

What was he going to say? He imagined Wufei Chang's voice in his head, "_What were you thinking. Barton? Just thinking about what?_ _**Do**__, don't talk!"_

"I play flute."

"You do? Classical? Celtic?"

"Yeah, bit of everything and not great."

"I brought my violin. I don't know why except I thought I might jam over at Sam Bond's Garage**. That was when I wasn't dead tired, of course. Anyway, you and I… we might play together?"

"Yeah." And when Trowa looked into those sincere, intense eyes, many things come to mind, not one of them musical in nature. "I don't know. I work better on my own." ***

The drop in temperature was so pronounced that Trowa looked to the side to see if one of the exits had been wedged open, letting in the chilly outside air.

"I think you have a crowd at your station," Quatre pointed out.

_No, the frost was all localized._

"Yeah, that there is." _Let them all die waiting, _Trowa thought. Being with Quatre was far more interesting a task.

"Well, duty calls!" Quatre said with finality, turning to rearranging his bowl of felt hearts, drastically reduced in numbers.

He'd been dismissed, that was clear. There was nothing to do but retreat into the shadows. "Later, then."

As Trowa slumped off, an instant re-play of the conversation illuminated where he'd gone wrong this time. The crippling "work better on my own" line- why had he said a thing like that? He might as well have cut off his legs, or tongue. Tongue would have shut himself up, at least.

Wufei Chang materialized as the last of the information seekers had been processed.

"All done." His friend held out both arms decorated with an array of bags, one a familiar candy red. "I've covered my ass this year, so to speak. And that hot little number in the red booth is sharp- as a tack. He's read Chinese poetry and speaks some Japanese. He's a Winner of _that_ Winner family. Too good for you."

Trowa's single visible eye shot sideways, examining his friend's expression. "You're teasing me."

"You tell me. He's heir to a fortune and you are… not."

Trowa knew the truth. Heir or not, Quatre wasn't living the rich life and was working hard to maintain a "not quite poor" status. "Struggling artist and starving musician. I think I can keep up."

Wufei was staring in the direction of Quatre's booth. "If you haven't already stabbed yourself in the foot. Or carved out your heart? I see the trail of blood leading to— here."

"Don't you have a Kung Fu demo to give about now?" _Go away._

"Yes. And don't tell me to go away, Barton. His favorite color is green and he hasn't plans for the night. Don't thank me for the information."

"I won't and I knew that… about the green." By which Trowa meant that had he thought about it he might have reached that conclusion. "Melon."

"Well, you might want to get your act together and ask him out before that guy does."

"Which guy?" he asked, sounding unconcerned. He didn't even turn that way. However, Trowa's disloyal eyes swiveled and saw the braided one hanging all over the blond. The nerve—

"Heh. You care. Don't try to fool me. Save the clowning around for your summer job. Remember, **do, don't converse**! Bye for now."

So what could he **do** to show his good intentions? He had a gentle soul, deep inside. He couldn't very well rip out his heart and hand it over with the caveat, "Treat it well."

Trowa had been thinking along the lines of taking his time, letting the guy get used to him bit by bit. After all, he was a little rough to really like all at once. "A little of you goes a long way," Wufei had once told him.

Go slow sounded swell, but he was going to have to change his tactics now that he saw the enterprising and friendly and, frankly, hot, braided guy chatting him up.

**Do**... what should he do? And then he had an idea.

(.~:*:~.)

"Whoa, you're doing bangblasters here, Quat!"

"That's 'gangbusters', Duo. Yes," he agreed, revealing a hint of fatigue.

"I'm selling sushi like hotcakes, well, so to speak. So, 'Ro's timing me out for a bathroom break so I thought I'd deliver you some lunch. Looks like you got a drink."

"Oh, that. Yes. One of the people who works here brought it to me. Thanks, Duo. This smells wonderful. I'm starving. I've been starving since they brought in the teriyaki chicken."

"Yeah, I had some of that before opening, heh, heh. Well, eat up."

Quatre dove into the meal as a shadow fell over him. A very tall man with a cascade of platinum hair glared at his friend.

"I'm looking for Heero Yuy."

Duo leaned against one of the support uprights. "You gotta a search warrant?"

"Very funny."

"Mill, he's at my sushi stand giving me a break, so don't bother him."

"I don't _bother_ people. He requested my participation in the martial arts competition."

"At _two _and it's only _one_ so go bug Wuffles and cool your heels."

"I don't bug — ah, no matter. I know where to find him."

Quatre waited for the intense man to leave before asking, "Compelling personality. Who's Wuffles?"

"The shorter, darker, _even more_ uptight Chinese version of what just stalked off. I'll introduce you some day. You'll get to know all my new buds eventually."

"Umm, this is so good. Thank you again, Duo. You're the best. I need a bathroom break now."

"And leave me with the woolies—? Whoa! Who's the dude with the dancer walk swinging his way over?"

"Shhh! Duo, that's the guy who brought me the melon drink. He works here."

"He does? Oh, yeah, Mr. Information. Well, he didn't bring me no drink. He must like you."

"I don't think so. He's a loner. He told me so. And he doesn't like my… crafts."

"He doesn't? Huh. Can't have much taste, but he's got the requisite green eyes—"

"Shush! He'll hear you." Quatre hissed at his friend, knowing it was too late. He stepped to the side, drawing the lanky young man to talk to him, if that's what he wanted, and greeted him politely. "Hello."

Duo didn't move out of earshot or offer to leave at all. Quatre liked that his friend would back him up if there was trouble of any kind.

Trowa stopped at the booth, looked Duo over, then picked up a handful of wool hearts. He cleared his throat.

"I think we got off to a rocky start and was hoping we could re-align our planes."

Duo used his hands to mimic to airplanes adjusting altitude and hitting head on. "Crash and burn! Nehhhhhhh, cablooey!"

Quatre shot a glance out of the corner of his eyes to catch Trowa smiling at Duo's antics in a tolerant sort of way.

"I was thinking _cosmic_ plane, not _aero _plane," Trowa explained.

"Oh?" Duo grinned.

Quatre ran his fingers through his bangs, moving them out of his eyes. "Well, I'm not sure—"

"The Cosmic Plane of Awareness," Trowa expounded carefully, "is a term for a very expanded state of awareness that consciousness itself emerges out of."

Quatre shook his head. "I know what you mean by the cosmic plane, what I meant was I wasn't sure whether or not it was worth—" And it was his turn to pause, to study the other young man and weigh his words. Why wasn't attempting a new friendship worth the trouble? How much trouble would it take? How valuable was his time? After all, he wasn't the head of some major corporation. His time was his own and a friend was an invaluable investment, of immeasurable importance; connections could be useful.

"Um—" Quatre blinked and reassessed. _Who am I kidding?_ _How terribly mercenary of me!_ _That guy is so sexy in a tongue-tied way._ _Ooooh! _Which sent off his mind reeling with images of tying up tongues-_ or just tying!_

"I mean-" Quatre paused again to rearrange his priorities.

Connections, pooh! This was chemistry and Valentine's Day magic. Trowa had attractive boyfriend potential and Quatre wasn't going to let a few blunders spoil the possibilities.

He was also somewhat mesmerized by the sight of Trowa's hands juggling five of the hearts, sending them high into the air, around and around—never missing. So gentle, so sure. _Was he trustworthy?_

"I mean, I really have to use the little boys' room. Could you stay here and mind my place for a few minutes, please? I'll be right back!"

He waited just long enough to make sure Trowa nodded once before adding, "Remember, everyone who buys gets a red bag!"

Quatre patted his hand and slipped past. Even then, Trowa didn't drop a heart, but he did put them back unharmed.

(.~:*:~.)

"Little boys' room?" Trowa looked at Duo for explanation.

He was chuckling. "Quat's a bit outta time and place. Name's Duo, by the way, and Quat's my buddy."

"Trowa."

"And you'd like to be his best squeeze?" Duo guessed.

"Maybe. We just met."

"Treat 'im as good as his little craft thingys and you gotta chance. S'getting busy again. Gotta run myself. Later, dude!"

Trowa had customers to tend to for the next few minutes.

"I can't get over all the work that you put into these."

"I didn't, um, I'm helping out. But I'll pass that on to the guy who did."

"I can't decide which to get."

"Get them all then," Trowa suggested. "They're small."

"I think I will!"

After a few minutes he was seeing the delicate bead work, the tasteful embellishments, the time-consuming labor Quatre had to have poured into each and every single one of the items. He was impressed.

As he thought about it, and after handling more and more of the soft, wooly crafts, he decided Quatre kinda looked like a soft, wooly craft, one he'd like to snuggle up with, only to be awakened out of that fantasy by the certainty he'd never, ever snuggled anything in his life, or wanted to. Now he did.

He didn't notice Quatre had returned until he overheard him talking to a child about the hearts.

"They can symbolize caring and be a way to express how important someone is to you. Your mother would like it, but she'd probably be happy if you gave her a hug."

"I'll give her this and maybe clean my room, a little," the boy said, choosing a red heart with orange stitches.

"That will make the day very special for her," Quatre said. He wrapped the heart in tissue paper and filled a small bag. "Thank you!" he said and handed the boy his purchase.

"That was generous," Trowa said. "The packaging cost more than the gift, I bet."

"Yes, you're right. This time. But the bag has my name and blog address on it, so maybe his mother finds me again and buys more, a lot more."

"Expensive risk is all I'm saying."

"And you're right. But it's just for the holiday. I'm trying something out."

"Advertising expense?" Trowa raised an eyebrow, catching on.

"Yes. That's a good way to put it."

"I understand all that. Cathy and me, she's my sister, are on the board that runs the grounds here. In the summer, we do the circus with a budget—"

"Barton and Bloom! You're that circus!"

Trowa colored at all Quatre's enthusiasm. "Yeah."

"I love the shows, especially the trapeze acts!"

Trowa bowed slightly.

"You do the bicycle on the wire! I recognize your… uh… build! How can you balance on that tiny thing? That's so dangerous!"

"Not so much." Trowa smiled and hung his head. He was going to have to find a way to stop this cute guy from talking in exclamation points. But when he felt a pair of arms wind around his waist and give him a hug, he forgot all else.

Then he was loosened and freed and Quatre was bubbling around him. "Sorry! That just came out of nowhere, I know. I'm not usually so… well, it was rather forward of me, but it just seemed as if you needed a bit of comforting. I'm really sorry if—"

"No, don't worry. It was nice. Unexpected, but nice." _Oh, the hell with it. Snuggly, cuddly, nice. _

All he wanted was Quatre with whipped cream on top— and if that didn't sound like a Valentine sort of wish, nothing did. Trowa decided that he could do this holiday thing, if he tried.

"You doing anything for dinner later, when this closes tonight?" He checked the wall clock. "In a few hundred hours?"

"Not really. I haven't even arranged for a place to stay. I was counting on Duo, but his boyfriend's got priority. Which is how it should be, right? He says it's okay, but I know better. I just can't barge in on them that way. So, I'll check into a motel—"

"How about I do you one better?"

"Oh?"

"Dinner, dessert, and you can stay at my place. Now, don't get excited! I was thinking you could have the couch. I live a block over—"

"So you're close to the circus when it's here?"

"Yeah, so I can hear the screaming from the rides waking me up in the morning. My sister's in the room next door so it's not like I'm proposing anything, ah… untoward?"

Quatre laughed. To Trowa it sounded like the best music ever. He joined in. He _could_ do duets.

"I know you have to be back here in the morning, so it would save you time and money and all."

"Oh, thank you very much, Trowa. I'd like that. The dinner, the dessert, and the place to stay."

They made arrangements to meet at closing, and parted, both satisfied that the day would end far better than it had begun.

(.~:*:~.)

"So, you live far away, then?" Trowa asked him as they walked hand-in-hand from the festival, closed down for the night.

"Far enough that I'd be worn out driving back and forth and the cost of gas would eat into my profits."

"And Duo?"

"Duo and I know each other from Sublimity, north of here. He just moved here a few months ago, and then in with his new boyfriend, and I didn't feel comfortable crashing that."

"No, that wouldn't be much fun, even for one night. So, is there much going on in Sublimity? Small town, isn't it?"

"Microscopic, which is why Duo left. It's pretty inexpensive, which is why I've stayed."

"I'm glad you're here now." Trowa moved closer, tamed his wayward bangs with a hand stroke and bent nearer.

Quatre imagined their first kiss, gentle as a breeze spiriting them along warm breezes into the heavens their flight accompanied by the sweetest birdsong—

Crush. Squeeze. Mmmmm—

When their lips parted he was breathless. No, this guy was not going to treat him like tissue paper flowers, delicate and fragile. A warm hand possessed his, totally enveloping his own. He was protective and thoughtful, and unsure. Then came an insistent tug.

"C'mon. I'm starving. Okay?"

And Quatre realized that he was very hungry and nodded excitedly. "Yes, which way?"

"Right, Salvadorian; left local salmon— your choice."

And he liked being treated like a real equal, not a coddled toy, not a rich boy-

"Left it is!" Quatre took the lead and pulled them ahead in a steady jog, laughing.

"And after dinner—"

"I won't be able to eat anything else!" Quatre declared.

"Aw, you could use a few more pounds and Sweet Life Patisserie's**** the place to get started."

Quatre's mouth opened to object, only to find it covered again by Trowa's in another kiss and he happily forgot his argument to remain waif thin, like his last boyfriend liked him. Or maybe Trowa didn't care? Well, if he did, Quatre was sure he'd be willing help him work off the calories later— _er, another day._

"You blush pretty easily," Trowa noted.

"Yes." _Especially when I'm thinking way far ahead of myself about you_, Quatre answered in his head. "Will you be my Valentine?" he asked the green-eye that was blinking away a stray hair.

Both of Trowa's eyes appeared and flickered. _Was he uncertain_, Quatre wondered?

"Yeah, what the hell? Make it a day to remember."

"Oh, you won't forget this day ever." Quatre was certain.

The End.

Happy Valentine's Day!

* The Asian Festival is a real event in February in Eugene, OR. It is loaded with craft and food vendors and art shows and martial arts demonstrations, music and entertainment— everything, but, sadly, no hot GW boys. I'll be there though. The poster this year really is darling:

www . facebook . com / pages / Oregon-Asian-Celebration / 334476961613

** Nice relaxed musician's hangout with open mic nights:

www . sambonds . com /

*** Do you remember this scene from the series? I always like it where they are together in the desert with the Maguanacs. Trowa and Quatre play a duet, and then Trowa leaves because he says that he works better on his own.

**** It really is deliciously special! Check out Sweet Life's website. Everything is even more delectable than it looks and the vegan choices are amazing:

www . Sweetlifedesserts . com /


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